


Four Times Lincoln Almost Told Jane He Loved Her And One Time He Actually Did

by msgenevieve



Series: Full Circle [10]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Het, Post-Series, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title, I believe, is self-explanatory. *g*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Lincoln Almost Told Jane He Loved Her And One Time He Actually Did

~*~

 

Shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the next, he checks his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Her flight from Washington has been delayed by two hours, and the novelty of watching happy reunions play out in front of him wore off at least one of those hours ago.

Finally he sees her, a tall, pale blonde striding through a sea of tanned brunettes, and his pulse starts to race. It’s been two months since he’s last seen her in the flesh, and he’s already entertaining lurid thoughts about the backseat of his Jeep.

She lifts one hand in a wave of greeting as he starts to move towards her, absentmindedly mumbling _excuse me_ as he makes his way through the crowd, his gaze welded to the face of the woman who has once again flown hundreds of miles to be with him. As he reaches her side, he desperately tries to remember all the witty greetings he’d practiced while he was waiting for her. His mind’s a blank, but that doesn’t matter, because she’s in his arms now and he’s kissing her, the two of them alone in a sea of strangers.

When she laughingly pulls away, she rubs her thumb across his mouth - too late he tastes lipstick - and smiles into his eyes. “Well, I guess that takes care of my _did you miss me_ line.”

He stares at her, his blood heated with more than just lust, the urge to tell her he loves her coming out of nowhere and seizing him by the scruff of the neck, shaking him out of his stupor. He opens his mouth, the words rising up in his throat, then he chokes back the impulse. It’s too soon, and he can’t bear the thought of her looking at him the way a woman looks at a man who says those words too soon, like they’re some fucking lovesick puppy that needs to be humored.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he kisses her again, hard enough to feel the press of her teeth against his lips. The smell of her fills his head, a familiar scent that both comforts and seduces, and he tells himself there’s no need to rush into saying anything one of them might regret. “Let’s get your luggage.”

 

~*~

 

“Are you coming back to bed or not?”

He smiles at the drowsiness in her voice as he finishes toweling off his damp legs. “Well, I would have climbed in there wet, but I figured you might object.”

She chuckles as she rolls onto her back, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head. The sheet slips and slides, affording him a very pleasant view of her full breasts, all pale flesh and rosy nipples, and he feels the blood returning to more than just his fingers and toes. “Have a good surf?”

“Not too bad.” He tosses the wet towel over the back of the chair in the corner of the room, then grins at her. “You should have come out with us.”

She snorts under her breath, reinforcing her opinion of getting up before the sunrise to splash about in the cold ocean. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll take up needlepoint.” He lifts the covers and slides in beside her, wrapping himself around the warmth of her body.

She makes a choked sound, flinching away from the touch of his cold hands on her skin. “Jesus, you’re like a block of ice.”

He grins, ignoring her protests to press closer, rocking his hips against the swell of her ass. His cock, having obviously recovered from the indignities of the early morning swim, is already distractingly hard. “Not everywhere.”

She twists in his arms, one hand sliding between them to investigate. “So I see,” she murmurs as she wraps her fingers around him, twitching her thumb in a way that has him groaning against her throat as he arches into her touch. She presses her mouth against his shoulder, her tongue flicking against his skin, and he wonders if she’s tasting the salt of the ocean. “Maybe I should warm up the rest of you?”

Much later, the blood still pounding in his ears, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, loving the way she fits against him from her shoulder right down to her bare toes. “Jane?”

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, one long leg sliding between his. “Hmmm?”

His hands lazily exploring the length of her bare back, he once again shies away from the words that are on the tip of his tongue. “If you’re coming for a surf tomorrow morning, we’ll have to pick up a wetsuit for you.”

She butts her chin gently against his shoulder, her voice thick with sleep. “You need to stop take everything so literally, Burrows.”

 

~*~

 

Hearing her familiar laughter wafting through the sand dunes, he quickens his pace, stopping short when he finds his whole family has apparently decided to play a spontaneous game of beach cricket. At least, that’s what he thinks it is. A fresh six-pack of beer tucked under his arm, he drops into one of the beach chairs they’d dragged down from the house and watches the game unfold, smiling at the sight of Jane’s long legs - tanned against her khaki shorts - and windswept hair.

“You’re out,” LJ tells Jane firmly. “Michael caught the ball on the full, so you’re out.”

She swings the flat-faced bat through the air, her hands wrapped awkwardly around its handle. “That was a practice shot.”

His son shakes his head, grinning. “There’re no practice shots in this game.”

She smiles, but Lincoln swears he can see her heels literally dig into the sand. “I swear you people are making up the rules as you go along.”

From the other end of the playing field, Michael laughs and tosses a brightly colored tennis ball to his nephew. “I hate to break it to you, Jane, but those _are_ the rules.”

“Good grief.” Tugging her cap lower over her eyes, Sara puts her hands on her hips and directs a playful glare at LJ and Michael in turn. “Must you boys turn everything into a _win at all costs_ competition? Let her have another turn.”

Michael smirks. “You’re just saying that so we’ll go easy on you when it’s _your_ turn.”

Waving a dismissive hand at him, Sara darts a conspiratorial smile at Jane. “Feel free to hit the next one clear into the bay.”

Jane grins. "Anything to shut them up, is that what you're saying?"

A moment later, the wooden stumps behind her lying in disarray on the sand, she laughingly hands the bat to Michael, admitting defeat. As though sensing Lincoln’s eyes on her, she lifts her head, her gaze locking with his with an unerring accuracy that makes his mouth go dry. Her smile widening, she makes her way over to his shady hiding place, dropping into the empty beach chair beside him. “Your family is insane.”

Grinning, he twists the cap off one of the beers and hands it to her. “You’ve been visiting us every other weekend for two months now. You’ve only just worked that out?”

She takes a long sip of cold beer, then presses the frosted bottle against her flushed cheek. “It’s the only explanation for wanting to run up and down the beach with a funny bat in the hot sun.”

“LJ’s been watching it on one of the cable sports channels lately,” Lincoln explains with a smile. “By Thanksgiving he’ll be back to pestering us to play football with him.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” She gives him a quick glance. “About Thanksgiving-”

His hand tightens around his beer, steeling himself to hear her say that she won’t be able to make it down to Punta Chame again this year. “Yeah?”

Her eyes are bluer than the water of the bay, clearer than the sky above them. “Is there anything special you’d like me to bring from the States when I fly down?”

Something tightens in his chest as he looks at her. He wonders when she’d become such an essential part of his life, then decides he doesn’t care about the _when_. He knows the _why_ , and that's good enough for him. “Just yourself.”

 

~*~

 

“This is ridiculous!”

“You’re damned right it is.”

She glares at him from the doorway, looking every inch the hard-nosed covert agent she is, despite the casual t-shirt and jeans. “There is no reason why you and LJ can’t come back to the States for a quick visit.”

“How about _I don’t want to_?” he shoots back, slamming the bathroom cabinet shut so hard that the mirrored glass rattles. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

He sees her startled expression in the mirror, and immediately regrets letting his temper slip. Before he can say anything, though, she clears her throat. “Why don't you want to?”

Putting his hands on the curved edge of the sink, he bows his head and takes a deep breath. It’s late, they’ve been eating turkey and drinking beer since lunchtime, and he’s not in the mood to discuss the prospect of a quick post-Thanksgiving trip to the States so he can be stared at by every second asshole on the street. “It’s too soon,” he finally tells her, hoping she’s willing to read between the lines of his simple explanation.

There’s a heavy silence in the small bathroom for a moment, then he feels her hands sliding around his waist, the warmth of her breasts pressed against his back. “I understand wanting some peace after everything that's happened. I just hope you realize you don’t have to bury yourself down here for the rest of your life." The arms around his waist tighten. "I want you to be happy.”

He covers her hands with his, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath their touch. “I _am_ happy,” he says, three very different words stuck in his throat. “I’m happy with _you_.”

Her eyes meet his in the mirror, and her smile is as warm and welcome as the night breeze floating through the open window. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Sorry for yelling,” he mutters gruffly, and he sees her shoulders lift in an elegant shrug.

“You’re a yeller. I know that.”

He feels his face flush. Is that how she sees him? Someone who loses their temper at the drop of a hat? He turns to face her, leaning back against the sink as he slides his arms around her. “What are you doing here with me, Jane Phillips?”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates, trying to find the words that won’t make him sound like a complete tool. “Is this how you want to spend your spare time? Hanging out in a beach house in Panama with a guy who yells every time he’s losing an argument?”

Her eyes search his for a long moment, then she lifts her hands to touch his face, her lips meeting his in a slow, delicate kiss. “Yes.”

 

~*~

 

“Tell me again,” Jane says as she pauses beside the couch, her fingertips brushing over the curve of his shoulder. “Why are you watching this when you already know the final score?”

“It’s a guy thing.” He glances up at her, momentarily taking his attention away from the rerun of a week-old football game. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says with a grin, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Try me.”

He reaches up and wraps his hand around her arm, tugging her downwards until she’s sprawled out on the couch beside him. They’re alone in the house, LJ having made himself scarce, muttering something about going to see if his uncle wanted to go into town to do some Christmas shopping. “The right team won, so now I can sit here and enjoy watching every single play, even the ones that get shot to hell.”

She laughs softly, curling one arm around his neck, her other hand splayed flat on his chest. “I understand. Should that worry me?”

He threads his fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it against his calloused fingertips. An odd sensation wells up inside him, seeming to flood every part of his body, finding a resting place in the middle of his chest. It’s certainty, he realises, and it’s suddenly all very simple. Opening his mouth, he looks her in the eye and says the words, knowing it doesn’t matter if she looks at him as though he’s a lovesick puppy. “I love you.”

She gazes at him steadily, her expression serene. “That works out very well.”

His heart begins to pound, a steady tattoo of hope against his ribs. “Why?”

Her wide mouth curves in a slow smile. “Because I love you, too.”

His answering grin feels as though it might split his face in two. Guess it mattered, after all.

 

~*~


End file.
